This chapter was tough to write, my hearts.

Thanks for tuning in as I post chapters of my new novel When Ivy Met Adam: A second chance, forced proximity, sexy, queer love-triangle romance. Your feedback is everything. Please post comments here or email me. I’m so excited to hear what you think.

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapters 8&9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13

Chapter 14 - Ivy

Regardless of what you may think of me, I did not spend the entire night seething and feeling sorry for myself. I thought about things. About Adam. About the four years we spent sharing everything. 

Everything except his identity.

I got very little sleep last night, as you can imagine. Four years of firsts—ours was my first serious relationship, my first sexual experience, my first time living with a partner—took all night to overthink. The current state of my analysis is that I had absolutely no idea my girlfriend was a dude. I think I thought she was more masculine than I am—she owned her limited femininity in the same way I fully embraced my abundance of it. I was girly. She was not. It was just that way. We never, ever (not even one time) discussed it. Hindsight’s crystal clarity shows me now that we didn’t talk about it because Ali did not want to. Adam did not want to. Of course, I know now.  

“What do you mean, you know?” he asks. 

“I’m not a complete narcissist.” I roll my eyes. At him? Nah. At myself, probably. “I listened yesterday. It’s that I just—” What did I just? “I just needed to be mad.”

“I get it.”

I’m tempted to pounce on this statement. Oh, do you? Do you get it? You left me! But I rise above my petty grievances. “Adam, I have cried a lot of tears over you. I’m done with that. So, hear me say this with a clear voice and a clear head,” you asshat, but I don’t say that out loud. Mostly because I’m not really that mad. And also because name-calling is rarely a sign of clear thinking. “I would have been there for you, Adam. I could have loved you through all that. You didn’t trust me.’

He nods. 

That’s it. Just nods his head. 

It makes me shake mine, no. “You didn’t trust me.” I guess it was kind of meant to be a question the first time I said it? I didn't know that until I got his answer. He really didn’t trust me. With this secret. With his heart. Fuck, this hurts all fresh and new. “How will I ever be able to trust you?” I snap. 

“I’m going to have to earn your trust.” His voice is calm. Damn him.   

Okay. That’s a start. But I don’t want to give an inch yet. So, I say, “Yeah. Well. It won’t be easy this time.” I cross my arms in front of my chest. “I, too, have lived a lot of life since you broke my heart. For example, I grew a backbone.” I straighten my spine in an effort to support my metaphorical backbone. 

“It suits you.” He dares to smile at me. When did he get so close? Weren’t we several feet apart at the start of this conversation? He’s just inches from me now. “New chutzpah and all, though, you didn’t fly back to Los Angeles last night.” He’s standing so close to me, I feel the warmth of his body in contrast to the cool ocean breeze.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of being the one to leave,” I confess. Okay, I hear what you’re thinking. How can I declare my independence in one breath and admit this in the next? Because this is the bravest thing I have ever done: admitting my vulnerability to this man is taking all the moxie I have. Please don’t fuck this up, Adam, I beg him silently. Please don’t take advantage of my showing you exactly where you could twist the knife. 

“I’m sorry I did that to you, Vee.” He looks like he really feels regret. “Of course I knew it would hurt you. But I was stuck in my head. I was stuck in the wrong body, for fuck’s sake. I didn’t—” He cuts himself off. “I regret hurting you.” 

“Thank you, Adam.” And I mean it. I enjoy the warmth of him for one more heartbeat. Then two. Then, I step away from him, but I reach for his hand. “Wanna walk?”

So we do. We walk along the beach, holding hands, and we talk. For hours.